Twirling in Circles
by the.spudette
Summary: Molly comes home to hear music coming from 221B Baker Street. What on earth is the consulting detective doing now? Fluffy one-shot. Established Sherlolly.


**Fluffy, short little one-shot based off a prompt of having one character walk in on their partner dancing alone to corny music.**

 **I do not own anything of the Sherlock universe; that all goes to ACD, Moffat, and Gatiss. Enjoy!**

It had been a long day at the morgue, and Molly wanted nothing more than to shower and crawl into bed. The stench of death and chemicals was caught in her hair, absorbed in her clothing, and stuck to her skin. She was used to it, but she knew that it was nearly unbearable for everyone else. The only one who didn't seem to mind was Sherlock. Perhaps it was because he spent a fair amount of time in the labs as well as the morgue, but then again, it could simply be because he was her husband. Sherlock was always telling her she smelled just fine whether she'd just come out of the morgue or the shower.

Knowing her husband, he was likely gripped with his latest case. He'd dropped by St. Barts once today for a report on Mrs. Templeton's internal wounds. Somehow that linked in with this case of missing triplets that he was working on. Of course, she hadn't asked how the two were connected, because she might get more than she asked for. She was no stranger to his lengthy deductions, and had learned when she should bother asking.

Entering 221 Baker Street, the first door opened, and out came Mrs. Hudson.

"Good evening, dear. If Sherlock's going to keep that music on much longer, can you tell him to shut it off by midnight? I'll have taken my herbal teas and will be on my way to bed by then" the old woman said.

"Sure thing, Mrs. Hudson" Molly answered with a smile.

Molly looked up staircase, and realized that there was indeed music drifting down from above. It was a slow and soft melody, the words muffled by the floorboards. She thought she recognized the tune, but couldn't quite place her finger on it.

"It's not like him to listen to music. He's not the one playing it…" Mrs. Hudson noted. "Then again, I shouldn't complain. This is better than when he tortures that poor violin of his" The woman shook her head before disappearing back into her flat.

As quietly as she could manage, Molly climbed the stairs to 221B, the music becoming clearer and clearer with each step. Whatever Sherlock was doing, she didn't want to interrupt it with sounds of her arrival. The plan was to catch him unaware. Perhaps he wasn't doing anything at all, and was simply sitting on the sofa, thinking, with this ridiculous music on. She would just like to think that he was doing something silly.

Since moving in with him, she'd witnessed many strange yet amusing things. Most of them involved his efforts at being romantic, though the latter weren't always a total success. Whether it was leaving her paper garlands in the shape of the anatomically correct human heart or sorting all her socks by pattern, Sherlock had strange ways of accomplishing mundane tasks. He was like no other, and he was hers. All hers.

Stopping in front of the door, she listened to make sure that there were no footsteps coming her way. On the contrary, she did hear footsteps that, now that she focused on them properly, followed the gentle beat of the song. Phil Collins? Immediately an image jumped to mind.

Unable to hold her curiosity much longer, Molly twisted the doorknob and opened the door to the flat ever so slowly. Sherlock's purple shirt swooped by, and she waited for him to get farther before opening the door all the way. There her husband was, arms up in a perfect hold with striking posture, twirling in circles with his invisible partner.

"Bored, are we?" Molly asked, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned against the doorframe. She was visibly amused with her husband's antics.

The detective froze, tucking his hands behind his back before whirling around to face her. "M-molly, you're home. I didn't hear you come up the stairs" he said.

"Clearly" she said, smirking. She took in her husband's flustered expression, like a child who had just been caught doing something he should not be, and a split second later, it was gone. She didn't get very many moments like it, so she made the most of the brief cracks in his calm façade. He'd recovered fairly quickly, and now stood straight, hands linked behind his back.

"I was merely practicing for the wedding next week, seeing as you're _so_ intent on going" he explained.

Molly lightly giggled before coming forward to wrap her arms around the tall man. "Liv is my coworker, and my friend. It would be awfully rude not to go; I'm one of her bridesmaids!" She knew Sherlock was not very fond of the other workers at St. Barts, but she got along with most of them. No one had believed her when she'd first announced that she and Sherlock were dating. It had taken a while before they'd stopped giving them weird looks anytime some public displays of affection slipped out.

Sherlock leaned down to peck the tip of her nose. "I know it's important to you. And if I can spend the evening dancing with you, it won't be so bad" he added with a smile.

Molly closed her eyes, releasing a content hum. "I'd love to stick around and provide you with a proper practice partner, but I really should go wash before the whole flat smells of corpses" she said, scrunching her nose.

"Corpses? What corpses?" he teased. Opening her eyes, Molly saw him adopt a look of mock confusion. She chuckled and removed her arms from around him.

"Don't be going anywhere, alright?" She playfully shoved him, and made off for the bathroom.

"Wouldn't dream of it" she heard him say behind her.


End file.
